


In the Line of Duty

by airspaniel



Category: Heroes - Fandom
Genre: Blow Jobs, Dubious Consent, Multi, Partnership, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-01-14
Updated: 2008-01-14
Packaged: 2017-10-19 12:35:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/200899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/airspaniel/pseuds/airspaniel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The curve of Thompson’s mouth widens into a grin.  “I need to observe my employees very closely, particularly when tensions escalate.” He shrugs nonchalantly.  “Just doing my job.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	In the Line of Duty

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted [here.](http://yumemiru-kikai.livejournal.com/15954.html)

“You shot me!”

Bennet rolls to the side, landing with his back against the rusted dumpster, and his gun already halfway reloaded. The clip slides home with a sharp click, and he braces his arm around the corner, firing two more rounds at the… thing they were supposed to be neutralizing.

Shooting barbed quills like a porcupine. Honestly, who would even _want_ that power?

“Rookie, you shot me!”

He strips off his jacket and throws it blindly at his partner. “Here, press that against it. Should stop the bleeding.”

A spray of needle-like projectiles bury themselves in the dirty metal next to his head and he pulls back, drawing the gun up and counting to ten. When the barrage stops, Bennet whips around the corner, neatly firing two rounds to hit the subject, one to the knee and one to the shoulder; putting the man down and keeping him there.

“I can’t believe you bloody _shot_ me!”

High on adrenaline, Bennet snaps back. “No, I shot at the subject, and you got in the damn way! If I ever shoot _you_ , believe me you’ll know the difference.” He pulls at the layers of Claude’s clothing, tearing the man’s jacket and holster out of the way to look at the wound.

It’s superficial; just a graze along the ribs on his left side, but it’s bleeding fairly steadily. Twisting his own discarded jacket into a makeshift compress, he applies extremely firm pressure, and Claude hisses between his teeth. “Take it easy!”

A mischievous expression creeps across Bennet’s face as the thrill of the chase fades. “I thought you liked it rough.”

Claude narrows his eyes. “Oh, you do not want to play that game, pup. Not with me; not right now.”

“Later, then?” Bennet asks, nearly managing a neutral tone.

“I’m bleeding here!” Claude yells, furious. “A little focus, please!”

Bennet helps him to his feet, carefully wrapping his left arm around Claude’s waist to hold the jacket against the wound. Neither of them speak on the way back to the car or the long drive back to Odessa, but Bennet can feel the tension between them building.

He can’t wait for it to break.

\-----

Bennet can tells by the stiffness of Claude’s movement that the graze on his side is still bothering him.

The stiffness of his demeanor, however, gives him far more compelling information.

“Still pouting?” Bennet asks, feeling reckless. Claude is clearly not in the mood to be pushed. Claude is, in fact, a big red button marked “do not push unless you want yourself and half of all creation to go up in a great big bloody ball of flames and so help me the slightest pressure is enough to set it off.”

Bennet pushes anyway. He likes explosions.

“ _Pouting?_ ” Claude hisses, like the sound of a pin being pulled from a hand grenade and here it comes… “No, I’m not _pouting_ , rookie. I’m enraged, incensed, really _fucking_ angry, because you’re sitting there, easy as you please, just laughing it up at my pain! Which _you_ caused, need I remind…”

“Are you done?” Bennet’s face is impassive, unimpressed. “Because we can go over this again if you want, but I do have a lot of actual work to be doing.”

Claude goes quiet and then he goes red, lips pressed hard into a tight pale line. For a moment Bennet thinks he might hit him, and he has to fight to stifle a grin. He never gets tired of this game.

But Claude doesn’t hit him. Claude throws the folder he was holding down on Bennet’s desk.

“Yeah, I reckon we’re done,” he says coldly, and Bennet goes from excited to worried in point two seconds. He stands up , crossing around the desk and reaching for his partner’s arm. “Claude, wait…”

Claude doesn’t wait; he turns sharply for the door, grabbing the handle and twisting it viciously, practically running –

Straight into Thompson.

Perfect.

Claude tries to push past him into the hall, but Thompson doesn’t budge, effectively blocking the doorway with his broad shoulders.

“Where’s the fire?” he asks, pushing Claude back into the office.

Bennet is still on his feet, nearly standing at attention. “It’s nothing, sir,” he demurs, just wanting Thompson to leave, and Claude’s head whips around to glare at him. “Claude and I simply have a difference of opinion about an earlier incident, and…”

“Difference of _opinion?_ ” Claude cries incredulously. “You fucking shot me!”

“Shot you?” Thompson asks Claude mildly, and uh-oh, Bennet knows that look. He’s curious. “Why would your partner do that?”

“I didn’t shoot _him_ ,” Bennet interjects. “There was a skirmish during a capture, and Claude stumbled into my line of fire.”

“Oh, yeah, stumbled, did I? More like you don’t pay attention where you’re pointing that bloody thing.” He’s staring daggers, and if looks could kill, Bennet would have spontaneously combusted by now, but Thompson’s eyes are still fixed on Claude.

“Let me see.”

“And, _and_ you had the bloody nerve to… what?” Claude blinks like he’s confused; he missed something, and this is really bad. Now Thompson looks _interested_.

“He shot you,” Thompson explains patiently, “There must be a wound. Let me see it.”

Claude is taken aback, one hand stealing across his stomach to protectively clutch the bandage on his side. “I don’t think…”

“Take off your shirt,” Thompson orders, and reticent or not, Claude’s fingers quickly undo his buttons.

Bennet tries not to look, and when that fails he tries not to stare as the shirt falls off his partner’s shoulders, exposing his lean, wiry torso, marred by a patch of white gauze. It’s so white that it makes Claude’s pale skin look almost tan, and Bennet’s fingers itch to touch it.

Thompson does, hand skating confidently down Claude’s ribs to rest over the bandage. He presses a finger against the wound and Claude inhales sharply, eyes clenched shut in pain, and Bennet is distantly aware that he’s salivating.

He wonders what that says about him as a person.

Then Thompson’s eyes snap up and shit, he’s caught. He quickly schools his face into a neutral expression, but it’s too late; he knows Thompson has seen him hungry and unguarded.

Sure enough, Thompson grins like the cat that got the canary, hand still tight on Claude’s side.

“Well, gentlemen,” he purrs, fingers turning gentle; stroking long slow paths up and down Claude’s bare back. “If neither of you are willing to bend on this, then it’s my duty as your supervisor to mediate.” And that really shouldn’t sound as dirty as it does.

Claude’s breath hitches as Thompson drags a fingernail down his spine, and Bennet swallows hard.

“And as much as I love a good verbal sparring match, and I know you two are very good,” his other hand has crept up, gripping Claude’s hip (and why hasn’t Claude said something? Claude _always_ says something.) and slowly turning him to face Bennet.

“As much fun as that would be,” Thompson continues, “I think it would be so much better to just kiss and make up, don’t you?”

Bennet can’t meet Claude’s eyes, suddenly embarrassed and ashamed and willing to say _anything_ to get out of this office.

“I’m sorry. I…” he stammers. “I shouldn’t have…” and he’s cut off by the warm dry press of lips against his open mouth.

Instantly, he’s blushing crimson, though it’s over so quickly that he can’t be sure he didn’t just imagine it.

“There,” Claude spits, “and is it Bennet’s imagination or is he breathing a little heavy? “Happy now, you bastard?”

Something flashes in Thompson’s eyes; something sharp and dangerous. “Surely you can do better than that, Claude.” He’s standing so close, right in Claude’s personal space; their faces almost touching. “You have to _mean_ it.”

Bennet’s tongue sneaks out, wetting his lower lip and doing nothing to quiet the tight thrum of anticipation in his lower belly.

Claude’s voice is defiant, but there’s an edge to it that wasn’t there five minutes ago. “Yeah? And what would that look like, then? Meaning it.”

And Bennet is so sure that the two of them are going to kiss then that he is completely unprepared for what happens next. Thompson reaches past Claude, pushing him aside as he grips the back of Bennet’s neck, pulling him forward and bringing their lips together in an uncharacteristically tender way.

Bennet’s mouth is still open in shock and Thompson takes advantage, licking past his slack lips with slick, deft swipes of his tongue. His eyes fall shut and he starts to fall into the kiss, but Thompson pulls away before he has the chance, leaving him panting for breath.

“Something like that,” Thompson smirks, daring Claude with his eyes.

Claude isn’t looking at Thompson. Claude’s staring at Bennet and _god_ , his eyes are hot; dark stormy blue, and they’re practically _screaming_ … some message that Bennet isn’t entirely sure he understands.

Then he’s being kissed hungrily, _possessively_ , and Bennet understands _everything_. Both of them still have their eyes open, blue locked onto blue, and this is so intimate, to see Claude like this. To look in his eyes and see every movement of his lips, his tongue the second before it happens; to see the way they widen and then half close when Bennet moans into his mouth.

Bennet wants to pull away. He can’t, _they_ can’t, not with Thompson here. Nobody else should see this. This should only be theirs.

But he can’t make himself do it. Not when Claude pulls his lower lip between sharp teeth, nibbling and sucking hard. Suddenly he can’t do anything but hold on and try not to come in his pants.

Terribly, mercifully, Claude tears his mouth away, fisting his hands in Bennet’s shirt and shoving him away; forcing space between their bodies.

“Much better.” Thompson gives his approval and great, fine, maybe now he’ll get the hell out so Bennet can pull Claude back in and –

“Do it again,” Thompson demands, and even though that is all Bennet wants to do; all he can think about doing, he really doesn’t want to give Thompson the satisfaction.

“I think you’ve seen enough,” Claude growls, and it sounds like he’s on the very same page.

The curve of Thompson’s mouth widens into a grin. “I need to observe my employees very closely, particularly when tensions escalate.” He shrugs nonchalantly. “Just doing my job.”

In two smooth strides he’s close again, this time up tight against Bennet’s back, and Bennet can feel the hard line of his erection pressing against the crack of his ass. Thompson chuckles, and the sound vibrates obscenely down Bennet’s spine.

“Call it a performance review.”

There’s hot breath on his neck, hot hands on his hips, Claude’s hot, heaving, _naked_ chest just inches away; and Bennet is just so hot for it, for everything…

“Do it again,” Thompson repeats, and this time there is no hesitation, no sharp comeback, nothing but the hot pulsing pull of Claude’s tongue in Bennet’s mouth, coaxing his own to come out and play.

And Bennet just might spontaneously combust after all.

“That’s good,” Thompson whispers into Bennet’s ear, soft, filthy encouragement. “You like that, don’t you?” And the noises Bennet is making are desperately close to whimpers, but he can’t stop them.

Thompson’s hand is moving downward and Bennet thrashes wildly, trying to pull away because if Thompson touches him now, it’s over, it’s all over, and he doesn’t want that. Not yet.

But his plan backfires, as his jerking movements bring his hips crashing into Claude’s. Despite the layers of fabric between them, the instant his cock brushes his partner’s he’s crying out helplessly into Claude’s mouth, coming hard, shuddering with the force of it.

“Oh god,” Claude gasps, winding his arms through Thompson’s, clutching Bennet’s back and holding him close; kissing his neck, his cheek, his temple, anything he can reach without letting go.

“Now, isn’t it nice when we all get along?” Thompson murmurs, using the newfound closeness of their positions to transfer his hands from Bennet’s hips to Claude’s. Claude gasps again, hips twitching and breath a ragged thing that suggests he’s close to the edge himself.

Thompson leans in over Bennet’s shoulder, nibbling at an earlobe as he goes and Claude’s mouth meets him there; tongues tangling as they vie for possession of Bennet’s skin.

Bennet, for his part, sags bonelessly between them, held up only by the tight crush of their bodies, his face burrowed into Claude’s neck. He kisses Claude’s pulse, his own blood speeding up again (and, _god_ , that has to be some kind of _record_ ) as he feels the fast vital throbbing under his tongue.

He wants to feel it somewhere else.

Bennet slips to his knees, trailing wet, biting kisses down Claude’s stomach and loving the way his partner is writhing under his hands. He rubs his cheek against the tent in Claude’s trousers and hears a stifled moan above him.

He risks a look up and loses his breath. Thompson and Claude are _devouring_ each other; he’s never seen a kiss look so angry. Thompson has the advantage, one hand fisted in Claude’s hair, the other clawing over his ribs, tracing the edge of the bandage with his fingernails. Claude shivers, and Bennet can see Thompson smirk against his partner’s lips.

Bennet is seized by the irrational desire to see Claude gain control, so he rolls his head back, rubbing the front of Thompson’s slacks with the back of his head. It’s a little weird, but it works; Thompson groans low in his throat and Claude takes the opportunity to seize his bottom lip in that hungry way that drove Bennet mad mere moments ago.

There is something to be said for teamwork.

Claude’s hand snakes between their bodies to wind in Bennet’s hair; stroking appreciatively at first, then pulling insistently up and forward. Bennet takes the hint, mouthing Claude’s erection through cloth as his hands work at the button, the zipper; pulling his pants open and shoving his boxers down around his thighs.

Claude’s cock looks painfully hard, leaking steadily, and Bennet’s hand is slick after one downward stroke. He closes his lips around it, pressing his tongue hard against the veined underside and Claude snaps his hips forward, forcing himself further into Bennet’s mouth. Bennet sucks him, tongue swirling wildly around the head and there’s no finesse to it, but there’s a lot of enthusiasm, and Claude doesn’t seem to care. He’s panting hard, bucking into it, moving faster and faster and his hand tightens in Bennet’s hair, and Bennet’s free hand races to his own fly; practically tearing the button off as he plunges his fingers into the sticky mess of his briefs; pulling his dick hard and fast in time with Claude’s fierce thrusts into his mouth.

“Yeah, that’s it,” Thompson sighs, watching them. Bennet is vaguely aware of movement at the side of his head, and realizes that Thompson, too, has his cock out and is stroking himself, hand a blur of motion in Bennet’s peripheral vision.

With a harsh cry, Claude comes and keeps coming, flooding Bennet’s mouth and he swallows reflexively, again and again, spilling his own release over his fingers. Claude groans, a shattered and broken sound, and Bennet echoes it, pressing his forehead hard against Claude’s thigh to steady himself.

It’s a long moment before he can breathe, and another before he can think with anything approaching coherence. When he lifts his head, he finds himself on eye level with his partner’s naked dick. Next to him, Thompson is zipping up his fly and oh god…

Oh _god._

How does this always happen to him?

He hopes Thompson didn’t get any in his hair.

Speaking of, Thompson takes a piece of paper off the desk, wipes his hand on it and smiles. “Glad I could help you two come to a mutual agreement.” He drops the paper and it flutters to the floor in front of Bennet.

The report he was working on. Fantastic.

“Of course, I should check on you again in a few days. You know, just to make sure you’re still working well together.”

Claude snorts angrily and yanks his pants up. “Not bloody likely,” he mumbles, but Bennet knows better than that.

His sarcasm is nearly tangible. “And will that ‘review’ be clothing optional as well?”

Thompson’s mouth curls wickedly. “Oh, I don’t think they’ll be an option. Gentlemen,” he nods dismissively, leaving the office as if nothing ever happened.

Bennet and Claude are left alone with the awkward silence.

And, boy, is it awkward.

It’s like some kind of standoff, as Bennet straightens up the desk and Claude puts his shirt back on.

“Rookie,” Claude says at length, voice barely a whisper. “The next time we have a falling out?”

Bennet looks up, trying for casual, but he’ll take anything less than mortified. “Yeah?”

“I’m not the one who’s getting naked.” And he’s gone, slamming the door behind him before Bennet has a chance to process.

He slumps back into his chair, running his hands through his hopelessly mussed hair.

He’s gotta find a new job.


End file.
